Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The little ash-grey brain cells start leaving us the minute
we're born and by middle age they've
taken early redundancy and when
we're OLD they've emigrated in droves to wherever brain cells
go when they're not in our skulls. The stubborn handful which remain to
await final expulsion are just about capable of turning on the tv or
perhaps taking up a hobby that doesn't take up too much room or make a
mess.

This, in an exaggerated nutshell, is what scientists,
academics and other highly qualified authorities assert is fact. Some of
them have also done research which proves that ground-breaking
innovation in art, as in other areas of human creativity, happens, when
it happens, only in the young. The rain in Spain stays mainly in the
plain.

Really?

In my un-authorised opinion youth is a flexible
definition, one that can be stretched like elastic if the pull is strong
enough. And the strongest pull of all is creativity itself, if
persistently exercised, sustained and nurtured. Which is why certain
individuals, Rembrandt for example, throw the facts about ageing out of
the window.

Rembrandt, Self-Portrait with Two Circles 1665-69

Old Mastery, such as I was privileged to witness last week in
the magnificent National Gallery exhibition of Rembrandt's late work,
is proof that brain cells can and will obey the instructions of genius
rather than the robotic agenda of nature. He died aged only 63, a mere
stripling by modern standards, but the old man who looks out of his
uncompromising self-portraits has reached a state of understanding which
transcends age and a mastery of his craft which grants him freedom to
focus only on what really matters to him - to the genius in him - and to discard the rest.

..In ancient Roman religion, the genius was the individual instance of a general divine nature present in every individual person, place, or thing....attendant spirit present from one's birth, innate ability or inclination’, from the Latin root of gignere ‘beget’.

Rembrandt, Self-portrait as the Apostle Paul

Rembrandt, Self-Portrait, 1669 (the year he died).

Could it be that the attendant spirit in each of us reaches a
state of maturity only when we allow it to become the dominant
influence in our lives? Whatever form it takes, whether expressed
through art or by any other means, it seems to be a path consciously
chosen and pursued with unswerving dedication.

More than Rembrandt's bold, astonishingly modern handling of oil
paint and the miraculous fluency of his drawings and etchings it was the
compassionate yet unsentimental truth of the portraits which struck
me. Technical virtuosity was always evident throughout his career but it
is in these late works that you can feel he has jettisoned all desire
to please, to compete or to be 'correct'. His eyes are not looking at
the audience, fans or critics, but into himself - the sadness, the
losses in his life, his own failings and disillusions - but also beyond
himself to the unknown and unknowable.

Tuesday, November 04, 2014

Like or dislike do not apply and Wow,
though appropriate, is unacceptably lightweight for such weightiness.
Weighty is the word that keeps coming to mind as I try to gather my
impressions of this stunning - as in stunned by a heavy blow to the head
- exhibition.
Literally heavy: sky's-the-limit kilos of lead, plaster, clay, sand,
ash, wood, straw, brick-thick slabs of paint and other stuff making the
stately walls of the R.A. groan in pain, awe or ecstasy. Weighty as in
authoritative, serious, ponderous.

Anselm Kiefer is a heavyweight in a lightweight contemporary
art world. His works are like slow-burning coals in that world's flashy
fireworks. Do I like his art? Like - a word now and forever degraded by
FaceBook and other social media - does not apply. Kiefer's work is
anchored, you could say trapped, in gravity, in gravitas. It aims at immortality with iron-willed determination and pre-empts the destructive effects of time by imitating them.

I'm going to risk stereotyping and say that you can't
separate Kiefer's work from German history and culture. Wagner and
Nietzsche could be the soundtrack to this show but a thoughtful silence
is better. German identity
- historical, cultural, political, mythological, psychological,
personal - is a theme that Kiefer has intensely and consistently
explored in unorthodox, often controversial ways and although he's
travelled the world and now lives in France
it seems to me that, wherever he goes, he carries his German-ness like
a heavy back-pack which is both a burden and a useful source. Whether
or not his astonishingly productive, energetic and successful career
owes something to the Hero-As-Conqueror Teutonic gene, Kiefer
demonstrates that you can conquer the world without invading and
occupying it (turns these into art-actions). If proof is needed of his
artistic dominance take a look at the list of some honours Anselm
Kiefer has received:

I must apologise for not writing a comprehensive, objective
review of the works themselves but, as an artist looking at others' art,
my objectivity becomes blurred by personal agenda, personal creative
tendencies, needs and preferences. In a gallery or museum my ego
usually walks ahead, pushing aside my humbler self. "Is there anything
here for me?" it says, hunting for something which might feed the muse,
maybe just a clue, a hint. I'm not ashamed of my biased one-eyed
doppelganger. I need it, it's a helper. If it pays insufficient
attention to a large proportion of extraordinary things on show I have
to admit that life, my artist life, is too short to appreciate
everything. And anyway, great artists can do without my appreciation.

Among the pieces in this vast exhibition that my egocentric
eye focused upon were, of course, Kiefer's giant books. I'd only seen
some in reproduction before and the materials themselves, up close,
excited me: watercolour on plaster on cardboard! Pages as tall as I am!
Pages you need a weight-lifter's help to turn. Allright then, I won't
make the pages so heavy. And those electrolysed lead books, so
fabulously distressed... No way. No lead. No lead poisoning.

Then there were woodcuts pasted onto canvas and painted over,
under, between, behind. And a terrific giant concertina-wall woodcut The Rhine (Melancholia) that you walk through as you exit the show.....I will do some giant prints. In sections. Yes, I will.

To make up for my shortcomings as art reporter, here are some relevant links I found after writing this post. If any of them don't open when you click on them, copy/paste the link into your browser.